Post-War One Shots
by ronnieangell
Summary: A myriad of post-Battle of Hogwarts one-shots that are written when I get bored. Does not follow one central character. Rated T for examples of PTSD, death, and other mental disorders.
1. Fred Died

Fred is confused at first when he sees a bright light, but then he sees two men who look just like his mother, men he'd seen only in photographs. Fabian and Gideon. He turns his head just as Remus and Tonks show up next to him, holding each other's hands. He recognizes Sirius as he swallows the both of them in a fierce hug, followed by a man who looks ridiculously like Harry, and a ginger woman. He realized that they must have been James and Lily.

Fred was still confused though; where was he? Why were all these people here? He ducked as a white owl swooped over his head. One of the men- Fabian, he thought- gave him a hug, muttering something about finally meeting his namesake.

"It's a shame you're so young, Fred. Molly's going to be a wreck," Fabian commented.

"Where am I? Where's George?" Fred pressed, he had come up with what seemed like the obvious answer, but he couldn't be. It was impossible. "And Ron? I was at Hogwarts! What happened?!"

"Sit down, kid," gruffed a familiar voice from behind him. Fred swung around.

"Mad Eye?!"

Mad Eye Moody didn't respond, but there was now a chair at Fred's heels. He sat down. Once Mad Eye was sure that he had the boy's attention, he explained where he was, where they all were, and gleaned insight on how Fred had died from what the boy could remember about the battle.

But Fred couldn't focus after a while; it had only been a second. A short, teeny tiny second. But he could've sworn that Harry had been there too.


	2. What's Wrong with Me?

The war was over. Voldemort was dead. Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Boy-Who-Killed-Voldemort, could finally live a normal life. He could finally finish a year at Hogwarts without having anybody try to kill him. And maybe with no looming threat over his head he could finally pull up some of his grades.

Yeah, okay. That last one probably wouldn't happen. But it felt so weird shifting back to worrying about school and his grades after having just fought a war. He had been dead center of it all and, quite literally for a small piece of it, dead. And now he was worrying about his grades. He was turning into Hermione.

Harry, wand in hand, tapped the bricks necessary to be able to get into Diagon Alley. It was just as it should be, people packed in the streets with all the shops up and running again. One could've almost imagined that a war hadn't gone on with the way people milled about. Harry did imagine it for a moment; that his life was normal, that he hadn't had to do all those tasks that Dumbledore had set for him to do. He was doing that a lot more lately. That image was shattered, however, when he noticed the giant hole in the roof of Gringotts. Harry laughed as he remembered that some of the goblins still resented him for setting the dragon free. Course, there was an entirely new set of goblins running Gringotts now…

But everything was as it should be overall, and Harry Potter couldn't have been happier, not when he knew what today's mission was; a ring for Ginny. Harry turned his head when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, then proceeded to roll his eyes. People were whispering and staring at him again. He kept walking, however, nothing would get him down today. Then he stopped, backtracking what he had seen in his head. The people had been carrying scrolls of parchment and pens that wrote for themselves; reporters. Horrible reporters that would ask him details about the war when he clearly did not want to talk about it.

Harry kept walking, more aware of the people, aware of what they were doing, the sounds, the smells, their conversations. They were so loud, yet so far away, pressing into his brain all the same. He tried to ignore it, the shop was just up ahead, if he could just get there.

There was a bang. A scream. The sound of glass shattering. Harry had hit the ground, his wand drawn. The smell of blood entered his nose; he could see the remnants of the explosion, a wall smashing into pieces, Fred smashing into the ground even though he was already dead.

People were already milling around the shop when Harry pulled himself up off the ground. It was just outside of Ollivander's, a wand misfiring and shattering a window; obviously not a match for the witch or wizard inside. Thankfully, due to the small fluke, no one had noticed his reactions and the reporters were gone. No one had seen him panic and freeze, how he remembered Fred hitting the ground instead of a window shattering into pieces, how he saw the Death Eaters mark in the sky instead of the glass and debris raining down.

Hermione had brought up a good point the other day when she mentioned PTSD. Hadn't they talked about that back in muggle school when he was younger? That some of the soldiers who came back from the war didn't act quite right? Was that what was happening to him?

Harry recounted the past few months after the war; every time he had dropped like he had just done due to a loud noise, every time he couldn't control his temper, when he had flashbacks to the Battle of Hogwarts over the littlest of comments, of the trio's life on the run. Every time he woke up screaming in the dead of night, when he thought a passing stranger was a Death Eater in disguise, when someone moved too quickly and he jumped back. Did he really have PTSD?

Harry strode out of Diagon Alley as fast as he could; he wanted away from these people and now. Apparating ran into his head, but he didn't quite feel like potentially splicing himself or puking. He just had to get home, to get away from the crowds and the people and the noise before his throat clogged up too much with memories and guilt. Plus, he had research to do.

He really was turning into Hermione.


End file.
